My Mate (B×B)

Loius POV Thick, flowing black hair you just wanted to run your fingers through, and warm hazel eyes that looked innocent but were anything but. Narrow shoulders and a toned chest stretched his clothes just enough to reveal lean muscle beneath the thin fabric. I sighed dreamily and leaned my head against my hand—only for my elbow to strike the flour bowl and send it tumbling off the counter. Everyone shouted as it crashed to the floor, and for some reason, I went down with it. I didn’t even see it coming. When the white cloud finally settled, I was left sitting on the floor, covered in flour and surrounded by a mess. “Louis Fredrick!” The head cook’s voice cut through the stunned silence, making me cringe. My ears burned with shame as I tried to distract myself by sweeping the flour into a pile with my hands. “Get up and get a broom. We don’t have time for this,” she snapped. “After you’re done cleaning, you’ll help with laundry in the basement.” I lifted my eyes to the head cook—who also happened to be my mother. “Yes, ma’,” I squeaked, pushing myself off the floor. I glanced around the kitchen and felt a small wave of relief when I realized the Alpha’s son had already left. Only the other Omegas remained, their judging eyes fixed on me. Keeping my head down, I hurried to the utility closet. I should be used to this kind of humiliation by now. While other kids earned awards for being the fastest readers or best writers in school, I got one for being the clumsiest. Things always seemed to fall around me. Maybe it really was true—I was one of them. When I returned with the broom, the others subtly shifted their ingredients away as I approached, as if expecting another disaster. I kept my elbows tucked in and moved carefully, sweeping everything into the dustpan before heading toward the trash. I didn’t see the foot until it was too late. I tripped, hitting the ground hard as laughter erupted around me. Coughing and waving away another cloud of powder, I forced myself up and glared at the female Omega responsible. She had black hair, sharp blue eyes, and a smug look on her face. Ciara. No one really knew why she acted the way she did. She wasn’t as submissive or fearful as most Omegas, even though she was just as small as the rest of us. At school, people called her “the cutest female in the pack.” I disliked her for two reasons. She bullied anyone she thought was beneath her—and she’d had her eye on Jason Williams since seventh grade. “Louis!” I looked up just in time to see my mother struggling to hold back laughter. My face burned. I jumped to my feet and bolted from the kitchen, colliding with someone on my way out but too humiliated to stop and apologize. I was the runt—I couldn’t have hurt anyone. Whoever it was probably found it funny anyway. Instead of going to the basement like my mother ordered, I left the pack house and headed home. It wasn’t far. I usually rode my bike with my mom, but lately I’d been walking instead. Merry Street was a quiet dead-end road leading straight to my house, named for the raspberry and blackberry bushes lining nearly every yard. In summer, they were full of fruit. With winter approaching, they stood bare and lifeless. When I reached home, I spotted my dad’s cruiser in the driveway. He must’ve been home on his lunch break. My shoulders slumped. I dragged my feet up the gravel drive—and promptly tripped, landing hard on my hands and knees. Sitting back on my heels, I stared at my scraped palms, blood already welling. The cuts weren’t deep. They’d heal. “You’re home early,” Dad said from his recliner. He held half a sandwich in one hand and a root beer in the other. Mom wouldn’t let him drink actual beer—she hated beer guts. “Yeah,” I muttered. Dad turned away from the home improvement show to look me over. Flour covered my clothes, and blood streaked my hands and knees. He growled softly under his breath, shaking his head. I knew that look. The same one that wondered how a powerful male like him ended up with a runt like me. I stopped in the bathroom to wash the blood off before heading up the narrow steps to the attic. It used to be storage for old furniture and holiday decorations, but when I was fourteen, I convinced my parents to let me turn it into my room. Up here, I had my bed, a desk, a dresser, and a bookcase. Unless someone dragged me out—or I went looking for food—it’s where I spent most of my time. I stripped off my clothes and flopped onto my bed, sprawling out as exhaustion settled in. School was out for Thanksgiving break, and everything felt the same—just without eight hours of classrooms. Curling into my pillows, I closed my eyes and let my thoughts drift to the one thing always on my mind. My Mate. I’d be eighteen in a few weeks. Old enough to recognize him. And I could only hope it would be the one male I’d been crushing on for as long as I could remember.